


Keepsake

by pushingthesenses



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Breeding, Breeding Kink, Childhood Friends, Choking, Come Shot, Comfort Sex, Creampie, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Dominant Ben Solo, F/M, Feelings that transcend from childhood to adulthood, Friends to Lovers, He's a bit feral and we love to see it, I beg of you, In a smutty way, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Porn with Feelings, Restraints, Shameless Smut, Somnophilia, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, and god, i mean i guess this looks at the psychological influences of this kink, if you don't like it then don't read it, only a few years but it's there anyway, refers to reader as 'little girl', reiterating the daddy kink here, so don't read it if you don't like it, sorry to my parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27879237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushingthesenses/pseuds/pushingthesenses
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin (or, rather, the tags).Do not read or engage with this piece if it makes you uncomfortable.
Relationships: Ben Solo/Reader, Ben Solo/You
Comments: 11
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **For the love of God, do not read this if it makes you uncomfortable, do not engage with it if you don't like what's listed in the tags or the rest of the summary. I do not wish to be tried for my sins, or be told that I need therapy - believe me, I already know.** Comments _will_ be moderated. This started out as a therapeutic like piece as I tried to explore my feelings behind this kink, and this is where we ended up. I was inspired to post this about a month ago by a (very encouraging) anon on tumblr, and you can also find this piece posted there.  
> This has become a non-linear series with a part two and some head-canons. And likely a part three, let's be honest.
> 
> This...is a friends to lovers smut piece laced heavily with daddy-kink ~~that is not at all related to my own upbringing and exposes my clear childhood and familial issues~~.
> 
> ~~Remember when I was shy about smut? Lol.~~

“H-how l-long?” 

Your words trailed off into a moan as Ben curled his fingers, dragging the calloused pads of them along your sensitive walls. He shifted slightly, moving to circle your clit with his thumb, rubbing tight circles into the bundle of nerves. A tight coil began to wind and wind and wind in your core, and you chased it with abandon, hips bucking into his hands in a deplorable show of desperation. 

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, but first, I want to watch you come for me, right here, on your best friend’s fingers.”

Your eyes fell shut as your head tipped back against the pillows, and Ben reached with his free hand to steer your face toward his. 

“Open your eyes,” he murmured. “I want you to see who’s doing this to you. I want to watch every last second of you coming apart.” 

You did as you were told, your eyes flying open, your clouded, hooded gaze meeting his. 

“Good,” he murmured, increasing his pressure on your clit. “That’s my girl.”

And it was his praise that did it - because it always did, always left you feeling like a wanton mess, even as he’d say it in passing, clueless to its effect. The coil snapped and you choked on your own breath as you felt it, felt yourself gushing onto his fingers, and felt yourself begin to float, landing somewhere between euphoria and heaven itself. 

He watched, so absorbed in your bliss, so captivated by how you completely and utterly pulverised in his hands. He couldn’t find the words, couldn’t even begin to thank you for allowing him such a privilege, to be the one obliged with the chance to take you apart, to wreck you. His eyes never left the plains of your face, even as you began to fall back into coherence. You fought to catch your breath, bringing your attention back to him. 

“How long?” You asked again, and Ben wasn’t even minutely surprised at your persistence. He withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth - because he had to, had to taste you, had to know what he’d been missing all those years. He hummed as his tongue slid across your come.

“Always,” he murmured once he’d sated his hunger. “For as long as I can remember.” 

His lips found your hairline, pressing softly into the skin there. 

“Me too,” you revelled in it, in the tranquility of it, the softness of it. But there was something else, the moment that sparked it, the moment that had spurred you to reach right into the depths of your desires, to dig up the feelings you’d thought you’d long since buried. 

“Ben?”

“Hm?” 

His lips cascaded down your jaw, your neck, teeth grazing across your collar bones. 

“At dinner, I said something,” your words quickly caused Ben’s ministrations to cease, his lips stationary on the column of your throat. “And it…it made you…It’s why, it’s why I wanted to kiss you.” 

Your mind settled on the moment, the recent memory - how you’d tried in vain to get away with shoving your potatoes to the side of your plate, moving them around with your fork in a feeble attempt at making them look eaten. You should have known, though, that a visit home to your mother’s house would make such a task impossible. And not because of your parents, no. No, because your ever-present childhood neighbour would make sure you ate your food. 

You recall how he’d looked at you, the stern gaze, the cocked brow. 

“Eat them,” he’d warned. 

“Sure thing, dad,” you’d chided, half playfully. 

You recall his face, his frame, how his whole body tensed, how his knee came to bang against the underside of the table without warning, sending your cutlery clattering from your plate. 

Ben exhaled roughly, the palms of his hands gripping your sides anxiously. 

“That word-”

“Don’t, don’t say it, I won’t be able to control myself if you do.”

“What if I don’t want you to?”

“Princess,” his tone was stern, a warning.

“I saw what it did to you, when I said it, when I called you ‘dad’.”

He inhaled sharply, quickly moving above you. He was so huge, so broad, that his body completely caged you. He hovered there for a moment, trying to steady his breathing, trying to collect himself. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the pillow above your head. 

“I’m warning you. I won’t be able to control myself,” he let out a shaky, bated breath. “Not if I hear you call me that.”

“I don’t want you to control yourself, I want you,” you breathed, completely entranced by the idea of Ben finally fucking you, of your best friend finally being inside of you. “Daddy.” 

And the silence that followed your words, the complete stillness as you watched him - it engulfed you. You watched as his composure crumbled, the cracks in his brick walls creeping up up up until the expanse of his very soul imploded right before your eyes. Ben’s head dropped as he groaned loudly, hips rutting into yours. In one swift movement, he was opening your legs, hiking them up around his waist. He looked at you then, and you knew how far gone he was. His eyes were so blown black you could no longer see the molten honey of his irises. And they were wild, too, just like his breathing, which was just a hair away from hyperventilation. His gaze persists and you knew, then, that this was his hopeless attempt at a question, at asking permission. You nodded, perhaps too eagerly, but God, you’d never wanted anything so much. He slid in to you, stretching you further than you thought possible, his forehead dropping to yours as a guttural moan ripped from his chest. You keened for him, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood as he sheathed himself fully inside of you. He trembled as he held his position, allowing you to become accustomed to his girth. The heat of you, the feeling of being so thoroughly connected to you, had him so on edge he could barely contain himself. You nodded at him, then, allowing him to move at last. He let out the breath he’d been holding, pulling out and then pushing back into you as you gasped, writhed, and moaned beneath him. The sight alone had him almost growling, a feral creature replacing his typically calm facade. He’d been picturing this moment, this very second, every day for so many years now, he’d lost count. Somehow, it managed to exceed every last one of his expectations. The feel of you, the sight of you - it was completely and utterly indescribable. 

“Aren’t I?” He grabbed your face, pounding into you at a force like nothing you’ve ever felt before. “Isn’t that what I’ve always been?” 

His breath heaved as he spoke through gritted teeth, trying to keep any semblance of control that he still had left. 

“When I taught you how to ride a bike, when I walked you home from school, when I carried you to bed when you fell asleep curled around me on the couch?” He thrust into you so hard, then, that you swore you felt him in your throat. Your breath was coming in quick and heavy pants, your eyes were welling up with the sheer pleasure, the sheer realisation of what was happening. 

“Huh? Isn’t that what I was every time I held you when you cried over some other dick, isn’t that what I was every time I fucked my fist raw to the thought of you, isn’t that what I was when I fell in love with you over and over, so many fucking times, I couldn’t stand it?” He growled as his hips continued to piston in and out, so forcefully, so hard, so perfectly. You cried out, eliciting a moan from him. 

“You’ve always been my little girl,” he murmured, his forehead falling forward to meet yours, still clutching your face. “It’s always been you, only ever been you,” his eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he relished in the feel of you, how you fluttered around him every time he praised you. “And now Daddy finally gets to fuck his little girl, perfect little girl.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this series is non-linear. And will be updated with random chapters as I (eventually) expand on it. But there will be no plot, or overarching story. It will literally just be....smut. This part is very, very short, and I wasn't originally gonna include it here, but it's been up on tumblr for months, so I figured...why not?

You storm into the apartment with all the grace of a downright hurricane - doors slamming, shoes flying. You’re fuming, absolutely _irate_. But it’s the kind of anger, the kind of temper that brings with it a swell of sadness and dejection. You toss your bag onto the sofa, running a hand across your face in frustration as you try to hold off the tears that have been threatening to spill for most of the day. Ben’s immediately on his feet, dropping his paperwork on the coffee table as he takes you in his arms, his large frame encompassing yours. 

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, and that’s all it takes for you to choke, violent sobs ripping from your chest faster than you can even attempt to contain them. “Ssh, shh, baby, what is it?” 

“ _C-customers_ , they’re just so-” you groan loudly into his chest, clutching at his shirt. “ _Mean_ , and frustrating!”

“What did they do, baby?” He rubs softly at your back, holding you as close to him as he possibly can. Another hand comes to rest against your scalp, your hair tangling around his fingertips. 

“How hard is it to wear a _mask_? How hard is it to not be a _prick_ during a pandemic?” 

He lets you sob into his shirt, and he holds you as close as he possibly can, shifting his weight from one foot to another as he lightly sways you. He soothes you with soft kisses to your hairline, the hand in your hair moving slowly to cup your face. 

“What do you need, princess?” his thumb strokes softly against your cheek. “What will make it better?”

He knows the answer, of course he does. It’s the same answer you’ve always given, and likely always will give. And though it could easily remain unspoken, and though he could easily give you exactly what he knows you crave - Ben wants to hear it. _Needs_ to hear it, needs to hear the words come tumbling out of those pretty lips - for him, all for him. 

You avert your gaze to the floor, shifting uncomfortably. You hate asking this of him, you do. You hate verbalising your need, your shameful desperation, despite how much you want it. 

“Don’t be afraid to use your words,” he breathes. “I know what you need, but I want you to tell me.” 

“You,” you murmur, still not meeting his stare. “I want you, daddy.” 

“Then you’ll have me, princess,” he tips your chin upward, and finally, your eyes connect. “You’ll have me.” 

And have him, you do. 

He has you underneath him on your bed, your legs hitched around his back as he fucks you slowly, dragging in and out, hard but restrained. He rocks against your hips, and your cries, your moans drive him half to madness. His head dips to the crook of your neck and he groans softly, bucking into your harder, faster, before regaining his composure.   
  


“My good girl,” he murmurs, drawing his hips back. “Is this how you want it? Is this how you want daddy to fuck you?” 

You nod feverishly, clutching at his back. The ache, the slowness, it’s all too much, yet not enough. But you know that he’ll give you what you need, what you crave. 

“Yes,” you moan loudly as he nips and laps at your neck, his tongue tracing your pulse-point. 

“Yes, what?” He smirks into your skin, snapping into you faster, harder, deeper. He rocks against your cervix, causing you to howl and scratch frantically at his back. He knows, knows well, in fact, that words escape you when he does this, when he pounds into you with such a relentless force. But that’s what he revels in - how he can unravel you, take you apart with his bare hands, and piece you back together, bit by wanton bit. 

“Answer me, sweetheart.” 

His voice is strained, and he’s close, you know he is, but you desperately need him to take you with him when he tips over the edge. 

“Yes, daddy,” and you clench around him in that way that you do, that way that has his eyes rolling back into his head, the way that forces his hips to buck at a punishing pace. 

He groans softly, a hand snaking down to circle against your clit as his forehead drops to meet yours. 

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs. “That’s my good girl.” 

And when you clench and scream for him, your head thrown back, your eyes screwed shut, he cums with a shout. His body tenses as he shudders through his orgasm as you lay pliant beneath him, relishing in the aftershocks. 

“Better?” He breathes, catching his breath. 

“Better.” 


	3. Chapter Three

You’ve just been so _stressed_. 

His little girl, his _good_ girl. Your body has been pushed to its very limits with late nights and broken sleep, your mind rattling with anxieties, fears, expectations. Teeth-gritting rage, a soul trampling _grief_ engulfs you at the thought of it - the thought of not being enough. The thought of not meeting the expectations you’ve set for yourself. The thought of slipping through the cracks, of your best efforts not quite making the cut. 

Even when sleep does find you, it’s broken, disturbed by vivid dreams and a racing heart. You’re still exhausted, unrested when you wake. You’re not relaxed, not calm, even now, as your eyes flit back and forth behind their lids, your mind deep in an unnerving dream. Your muscles are still tense, still stiff beneath his touch. He tells himself that this isn’t selfish, as he shifts beneath the sheets, crawling between your legs as he pushes them apart. He tells himself that this isn’t just another excuse to taste you, to sate his hunger for your sweet cyprine. He tells himself that this is for _you_ , to bring his little one some solace, to take care of you, to soothe your restless body in a way that only _he_ can. 

Perhaps, both are true.

“Daddy’s got you,” he whispers into the soft skin of your thighs, fingers looping around the fabric of your panties and pulling them down your legs. His lips find your clit, first. Kissing at it, lapping at the bud until it swells and throbs. You whimper slightly, turning your head to the side, still encased in a disturbed sleep. His palms slide against the skin of your waist as he hushes you, his tongue dipping to slide into your entrance. He moans at the taste, as he often does. He can’t help it - how he craves it, how he relishes in the sight of your arousal dripping from your cunt, how it feels as it coats his tongue, dripping down his chin. 

Such a pretty little thing, you are. 

Your body reacts to him in ways he knows he doesn’t deserve - slick gushes from your heat, sticking to your thighs as he moves back to your clit, and you grind into his face, still so desperate, so wanton for him, even in the depths of your dreams. So needy, so pliant, so _obedient_. 

You mumble something soft, and his eyes flick up just in time to catch you stir, to see your eyelashes flutter as consciousness taunts you. 

“Daddy?” 

Your voice is soft, strained almost, and still thick with sleep. He licks a stripe through your folds in response, teeth scraping across your clit, and he watches in satisfaction as your eyes fall shut once more. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.” 

He takes his time, exploring every crevice, every inch of flesh until _he’s_ the desperate one, his hips bucking into the mattress, a hand snaking down to fist at his cock. Precum leaks from the tip, and he groans, swiping his thumb across the head. Remarkable, the things you do to him, even in this half-asleep state, tangled somewhere in the purgatory of dreams and reality. 

He feels your calves clench and tighten against his shoulders, your hips gyrating against his chin. 

“That’s my good girl,” he sighs, his hand moving faster, tighter along his shaft. “Let go for me.” 

You’re shuddering, convulsing, almost, when he sucks on your clit one final time, your orgasm rippling through you. You whine softly, still not coherent, still not quite awake, even as Ben grunts into your heat, lifting himself into a kneeling position as he feels his balls tighten. It’s the sight of you - blissed and finally relaxed that gets him, that has his thighs tensing, his neck straining as he finds his release. His chest heaves with the effort of staying silent as thick ropes of his hot, milky cum paint your glistening cunt. He watches it drip onto the sheets, trickling past your clit, some of it collecting at your entrance. He gathers it on his index finger, and you moan, writhing slightly as he pushes it inside, where it belongs. 

And when he pulls you into his embrace, your back pressed tightly against his chest, he feels it. Feels how your muscles loosen, how your breathing becomes deep and even. 

You’ll thank him when you wake, but your cum that still lingers on his tongue is thanks enough. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted over on my tumblr, [kkysolo](https://kkysolo.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> This is heavy on the breeding kink, very much wish not to pay for my sins.

You’re so _hot_. A blissful warmth spreads through every inch of you, your cheeks burning with it, with how much you _need_ him. 

“You want your daddy to stuff you full of his cum, baby?”

He grabs your knees, pushing them backward until they’re in line with your face. He needs to _see_ , needs to watch as his cock rips you open.

“Use your words,” he grunts, offering a particularly deep thrust. “Or you won’t get it at all.”

“P- _please_ , daddy,” you whine, hands searching for him, grasping at his shoulders, his arms, anywhere you can reach. 

“You can do better than that,” he stops his movements altogether, his hips coming to an abrupt halt. “ _Tell_ me what you want.”

He revels in it, the way you look at him so doe-eyed and pretty, the way you beg for him. He needs to hear it, needs to hear how badly you want him, how desperately you _need_ him.

“I want to be full of your cum, daddy,” and your _eyes_ , the way they glisten with unshed tears, shimmering with intrinsic desire, with a carnal urge to be completely and utterly filled by him - it drives him half to madness. 

He groans, withdrawing almost entirely. You’re so pretty like this, so perfect. Pliable and docile, malleable to his every touch, his every word. 

“Good, I'll make you _mine_ ,” he grunts, hips slamming back into yours at a punishing rate. “I’ll stay inside you for days, fill you with my cum until it drips down your legs, until you’re fucking swollen with me,” he grabs your face then, holding your jaw so that you look at him, really look at him. “I’ll _ruin_ you for anyone else.” 

You want to tell him that he already has you, that you’re already thoroughly destroyed, completely spoiled by him. No man, no matter how hard they may try, no matter how many feeble attempts they make, will ever compare to him. To _Ben_. To your daddy. But you’ve been reduced to a wreck of sobs and incoherent wails, the concept of speech is something entirely implausible. He’s so deep, rocking against your cervix with every harsh thrust, a hand pressed firmly between your bodies. He thumbs at your clit, and the eager little moans, the little whimpers he pulls from you - Ben will never tire of them. 

“Are you mine, babygirl?” 

You nod feverishly, another high-pitched whine escaping your throat. 

“Little girl can’t speak, can she?” Ben murmurs, his panting only causing your clit to throb under his touch. “Daddy’s gonna fill you up, sweetheart, and then everyone will know who you belong to,” he grunts, his pace increasing. “ _Everyone_ will know you’re mine when I’m finished with you, when you’re carrying _my_ child.” 

He watches your eyelids flutter, more sweet noises escaping your pretty lips. You’re so tight, so close, so _wet_. 

“I want you to come for me,” he hisses. “Squeeze me nice and tight, baby.” 

Your clit is so _stiff_ , and he rubs it in steady circles, his cock dragging against your walls. The atmosphere is so thick, so heady. The headboard rocks against the wall, the bed creaks under the weight of his relentless momentum. He reaches down, wrapping a hand firmly around your neck, his thumb pressing against your throat, just how you like. 

Your walls begin to contract, clenching down on him as you approach your release. You’re so close, you’re _almost_ there -

“Tha-at’s it, that’s my good girl,” he breathes, and his words, the way he talks to you, the way he praises you - it pushes you past the precipice, causing you to tumble into the depths of an almost _violent_ orgasm. Your calves tense against his shoulders, your nails scratching into the skin of his bicep. But your face. The way your jaw hangs slack, the way your eyes shine, the way your breath catches as you scream. 

Ben groans, the sight, the image of you falling apart steering him to his peak. 

His hips stutter, hot, thick ropes of cum coating your walls, as his chest heaves, quiet, strangled moans filling the space between you. 

“Take it all,” he pants. “Take all of daddy’s cum, keep it nice and safe for me.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is highly self-indulgent (or self-caring? idk). I crave him on my bad days, so here we are. I write in second-person omniscient, so expect chunks from Ben’s perspective, too. 
> 
> I didn't really edit or proof-read this, it's been one of those weeks.

He loves you like this.

How the morning sun breaks through the curtains, the golden light cascading along your arms, your back. You’re tucked against his chest, nuzzling against his skin, pushing through the haze of sleep. Your hands are clasped against your sternum as you fold in on yourself, making yourself impossibly smaller in his embrace. He forces a hand between your bodies, dragging one of yours toward his face. He holds it gently, caressing your knuckles with his thumb.

“You’re quiet,” his skin vibrates against your cheek as he speaks, and you curl further into him. He knows you’re awake, knows by how your eyelids flutter, how your muscles tense in his grasp. And how unusual it is for you, his angel, not to kiss him good morning.

“Did you sleep well?” he prods, squeezing your hand softly. You shake your head, your hair tickling his pectorals as you do. “No?”

“No,” you mumble, keeping your face firmly hidden from his view, nestled between the duvet and his chest.

“And why’s that?”

You mumble something incoherently, your words muffled by the combined weight of layered cotton and his sleep-warm skin.

“Daddy can’t hear you,” he whispers, hooking a finger under your chin. “Look at me.”

You resist, trying in vain to bring the covers further over your face, but he pulls them back. Grunting in disapproval, he tugs at the seams of your hiding place. “Don’t be a brat this early in the morning,” he warns, his stern tone more comforting than menacing. You concede, allowing him to peel back the blankets, revealing your tired, bloodshot eyes. “Talk to me, angel.”

“Do you ever just…” you trail off. “It’s stupid.”

“None of that,” he tuts. “Tell me.”

“Do you ever just feel like...no one will love you?”

Ben cocks an eyebrow, scoffing slightly.

“What did you think I was doing here?”

“I don’t mean _you_ ,” you grumble, not quite realising how ungrateful you surely sound. “I mean...I don’t know what I mean. I just feel so...alone. Unloveable.”

And you do. The pandemic and all it’s calamitous fallout has left you isolated, lonely. Wandering the halls of your apartment, wondering if you will ever belong _anywhere_ else. If the walls of your involuntary confinement will ever subside, if they will ever crack, if the light of laughter and friendship will ever touch you again.

“You’re not alone,” he whispers, placing a soft kiss to your temple. And you know, you do, that he understands more than anyone, what this feels like. This weight of loneliness, of idle irritation. Of feeling _unloved_. “I’m here. I’ve _always_ been here.”

“I know,” your hand slips from his grasp for just long enough to toy with his fingers. They’re so large compared to yours, so strong. “I meant-”

“I know what you meant,” his voice is soft, but so deep, so commanding of attention, even in quiet moments such as these. “This,” he gestures vaguely with his free hand. “Will end. For now, we have each other. And we’ll have each other when it’s over, too. But for now, just know you belong here,” he moves his hand, untangling his fingers from your grasp. He rests his palm against yours, his eyes trained on the difference in size between them. “With me.”

You look up at him, wide-eyes glistening with that contentment, that genuine sense of _something_ , that only Ben can ignite within you.

“Because you’re mine, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yes, daddy,” the term drips from your mouth like honey, and Ben doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of how gorgeous that word sounds on your lips.

“Good girl,” he smiles softly. “Now, let daddy show you where you belong.”

* * *

Silk ribbon binds your wrists to the head-board, baby-pink and bow-tied, just as Ben likes. You look your best like this, he reckons. Moaning, squirming, begging for him. _Yes_ , he thinks. _This is where you belong._ Beneath him, connected to him, marked by him. Protected, doted on and _adored_ by him.

“Needy little thing today, aren’t you?” Ben murmurs as you writhe beneath him. His thrusts are deep, but so, _so_ slow. _Too_ slow. “Sssh,” he kisses along your neck, his lips wet and hot against your skin. “Let me feel you.” 

He rolls his hips again, and you buck upward, whining impatiently. He’s had you on the precipice for hours now, winding you up, making sure you’re as wet and as desperate for him as he can possibly get you. It takes a great deal of discipline, of control, not to fuck you as hard and fast as he wants, until you’re sore and bruised and unable to walk. But how he relishes in these moments when he’s restrained enough to capture them - how your eyes water with a restless impatience, how you whimper and keen for him, hungry for whatever sliver of relief he’ll give you. It’s moments like this where he revels in how much you need him. 

Tears begin to trail down your cheeks and you cry softly - the gradual drag of his cock against your walls just isn’t _enough_. Not now, not after you’ve waited so long, not after you’ve been pliant and well behaved for _hours_ now. You’ve been so good, you’re _sure_ of it. 

Ben hums in satisfaction. You’re just so pretty when you cry for him, when your hunger manifests in damp cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. 

“I-I’ve been _good_ , daddy,” you sniffle, tugging softly at your restraints to make a point. And how his heart breaks at the sight, at your doe-eyes and wet lashes, at the gut-wrenching realisation that you thought you were being _punished_. 

Ben slows his movements further, his thrusts become shallow. He tips his forehead against yours, a large hand cradling your jaw as you begin to sob. 

“Sssh, ssh, baby,” he kisses along your jaw, your ear, your temple. “You’re not being punished, baby-girl, you’ve been so good for me,” he rolls his hips again, sharper, deeper this time. He soothes you, nuzzling your hairline as he coos at you; “Sweet, sweet girl, so _good_ for me.”

You sniffle again, tears still spilling freely from your eyes as you sigh in relief. Ben brings a hand under your knee, shifting your position slightly so his thrusts reach deeper.

“Daddy’s gonna give you everything you need, princess.” 

Faster, _harder_. He knows you like it best like this. _Finally_ , he shifts his arm, rolling your swollen, throbbing clit beneath his fingers. You cry out in relief, inhaling sharply as your orgasm builds far quicker than you’d expected. 

“Mm, you did need this, didn’t you, baby?” 

You nod feverishly, and Ben shifts your legs to rest against his shoulders. _Deeper_. He needs to feel every last part of you, needs you to feel him in your throat, lest ever you forget exactly where you belong. 

“Nice and deep, isn’t that how you like it?” 

“Y-yes, da-addy.” 

“My sweet angel,” he leans down the best he can, dragging open mouthed kisses along your shoulder. “Such a good girl.” 

A soft moan escapes him. You’re so tight, so warm and _wet_ , and how you _glow_ when he fucks you - it’s a sight he has committed to memory. He knows you’re close, you’re clenching around him, just as he likes. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he whispers “Cum for your daddy.” 

He must have your body trained, surely. To react to him the way that it does, for your orgasm to crest on command, at the mere sound of his baritone voice. The _relief_ of it is like nothing you’ve felt before - blissful; heavenly, almost. You convulse and shake beneath him, strangled moans and cries resounding in the space between your bodies as your thighs and calves tense.

You’re almost blind from it, can barely hear him when he grabs your jaw, steering your blurred gaze to meet his. He releases a long, drawn out groan as you tighten around him once more. Because he loves it, he does - cumming so deep inside you as he looks at your well-fucked face, all dried tears and blown out pupils. He fucks you through his orgasm, ropes of his hot cum painting your insides, his chest heaving as he does. 

When he finally collapses above you, he takes your face in his hands, thumbs trailing across the still-wet skin of your cheeks. 

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs. “You’re loved.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [say hi on tumblr](https://kkysolo.tumblr.com/)


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